The huge capitalistic clitoris is only one of many lyrical creations in the intro of »Apocalypse, girl«. Dicks, bananas, and women who are told to first learn how to bake before getting a child are joining in on the poem that is framed by untidy sounds and the squeaking of a balloon being rubbed. That’s what someone sounds like who considers the arts to be just as important as the message. To be fair – it’s quite hard to peal a message from the intro. However, all the louder it gets in other tracks, like when Hval is asking one rhetorical question after another about having to take care of oneself: »Gettin’ paid, gettin’ laid?…shaving in all the right places?!« By asking those questions she is giving the same answer that most people would have given to the question asked in the title. Irony? Criticism? She doesn’t really clarify. Still, what she is clear about are the passages in which she is trying broaden the listener’s thoughts: »I’m touching my cunt with my hand that isn’t clean. Am I loving myself now?«. Of course, Hvals new record is also about feminism and other social-cultural topics. But she doesn’t nag and moan about what it’s like – she rather asks the listener: What is it like? She does that by talking about things which seem absurd or even unpleasant at first glance. As a listener, you feel like you’re the only one she’s talking to. The sounds are tiny, even ordinary, and her vocals make you want to be alone with her. That’s how she gets you. Gets you with something that might normally rankle you as too artsy. Until they actually tumble, the borders of your thoughts. This could be the apocalypse that the record’s title conjures: the downfall of readymade mindsets.
Apocalypse, Girl
